Forget that I called
by chartreuseian
Summary: Amelia has made a few too many mistakes today... ONESHOT


"**Forget that I called, I'm… I'll talk to you later,"**

The phone was a bad idea she decides as she hangs up. A very bad idea. Because now Charlotte will ask. She will ask questions. Questions she's not quite ready to answer. She takes a deep breath. And then stops herself. Her breath, it will be on her breath. She takes more normal breaths. In and out. Short breaths. Or she'd like to anyway.

She's frozen. Frozen in time and space. Frozen in the scrub room. She wants to move, wants to join the blurry figures moving around her. They're so slow. And so fast. They're slow and fast, so very confusing.

Her tongue is stuck to the top of her mouth. That makes the breathing harder too. She frozen and her tongue is stuck and it's stopping her from breathing.

Calm.

Be calm.

You have to be calm.

Despite the fact that you're frozen, unable to breath. There's a snide little voice inside her, saying these things.

Taste bud by taste bud she unsticks her tongue. Every little bit takes all her concentration.

"**Is everything O.K?"**

A nurse. A nurse wants her to do something. Maybe it's…. maybe it's surgery, she guesses. Out of the corner of her eye she sees something on the table. A man. Without a helmet.

No, I am not O.K, she decides. No. No. No, she wants to scream it. No. I need… I need. She can vaguely taste the whiskey. It wasn't the best but it did the job. It was deadening, like anaesthesia. She can do this.

She can.

She…

Shit.

Shit. The helmet. If he had worn a helmet. If he just worn a helmet.

Shit.

Shit. If that idiot had just worn a helmet.

She takes another swig.

Shit. If that idiot had just worn a helmet, she wouldn't have had to be in surgery.

Shit. If that idiot had just worn a helmet, she wouldn't have had to be in surgery and she wouldn't have called Charlotte.

Charlotte. Shit. Calling Charlotte had been very bad.

"**Yeah, yeah I just need a minute,"**

Or another whiskey. A minute won't help, she needs another whiskey. Her scrub cap is rubbing against her forehead. It seems to be getting tighter and tighter. Her hands reach out to grab something.

Anything.

The sink. She grabs the edge of the sink. The metal is cold. Her palms are sweaty. Her mouth is still dry. She needs a drink. She needs it more than water.

I'm not drunk, she tells herself. I'm not. And she isn't. She knows that. One drink does not put her over the limit. It just makes her want one more. One more drink before she cracks open that idiot's skull. One last drink.

She can smell the bar. The sweat of the bartender. The whiskey as she picked up her glass. Her sense are all there. Still in the dirty old bar. She can see the flickering light in the far corner. The green surface of the pool table.

Then the illusion comes crashing down. She isn't in the bar. The cool surface against her hand isn't the glass.

She looks straight ahead at the man lying on her table. She's in the scrub room. She's looking at the O.R. She's not in the bar.

She scrubs her hands. What else can she do? She can get a drink after. She'll be fine. She'll be fine. It's her new mantra, she decides. She'll be fine.

The water is freezing. Her hands shake. No. No. No, she won't let her hands shake. They don't stop.

I am where I am, she tells herself. I can't change it now.

_God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change._

NO! She won't think about that. That's not what this is.

_And the courage to change the things I can._

She isn't… That's not. She won't think about it. She shakes her head and bites her lip.

_And the wisdom to know the difference._

She can't change this. She can't. And it's not… she's not… SHE IS NOT. It was a slip.

She takes a deep breath and shuts off the water. Another breath. Her heart pounds with each step she takes towards the O.R. Another breath.

She's fine.

She's fine.

She's…

Fine.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Just a blip. I'm good now."<strong>

A slip. That's all. Charlotte will understand.

She knows her breath will smell.

She knows Charlotte will understand. She's not drunk.

A slip. Charlotte will understand.

She needs to get out of here.

"**Starting now you're surgical privileges at this hospital are revoked. You and I? Are going to a meeting right this minute."**

Not bloody likely, she thinks. She's getting out of here to get another drink. She's fine. She's fine.

"**Screw you Charlotte."**

Screw her. Screw her and her meetings, she's fine. She can feel Charlotte's disapproval as she walks out.

Screw you. She gets changed.

Screw you. As she arrives at the bar, the tension growing in her chest shatters. She's fine. She's fine.

Screw Charlotte.

* * *

><p>Time passes quickly in the bar.<p>

Her hand closed around the cold bottle. She smiled. She let the pool cue slip, it's polished surface sliding through her hand. The condensation from the drink makes her hand wet. She tightens her grip as she lifts it. Half to make sure she doesn't drop it, half so that the Charlotte in her mind's eye doesn't make her put it down.

Her lips part and she raises the bottle to her mouth. The opening all but flies to her mouth without her guidance. She breathes in through her nose and tips her head back. Her hair dangles down her back, tickling the bare skin below her neck. One more drink and that sensation will be gone. She knows it for a fact.

Just like she knows one more drink will still the frantic pace of her heart. She grips the pool cue tighter as the first drop of the drink sizzles on her tongue. Her relief is palpable. The drink soothes her nerves. It squashes the emotions. So far down that she can forget about them for a while. Well, until she saw something. Something like that motor cyclist's helmet, sitting on the table.

She lowered the bottle, still gripping it's wet, cool sides tightly. There's a helmet, on the table, just a few feet from her. A helmet. Her breathing gets deeper as the fear seeps through her. Her hands are so close to shaking. She grips the cue tighter and lifts the bottle again.

Shit. If that idiot had just worn a helmet, she wouldn't have had to be in surgery, she wouldn't have called Charlotte and Charlotte wouldn't have suspended her privileges.

Shit. If that idiot had just worn a helmet, she wouldn't have had to be in surgery, she wouldn't have called Charlotte, Charlotte wouldn't have suspended her privileges and she wouldn't have…. Wouldn't have… she couldn't remember what wouldn't have happened.

Her mind goes fuzzy as she notices the drink in her hand.

She takes another swig.

That's it. Her mind relaxes. If Charlotte hadn't suspended her privileges, Amelia wouldn't be here. She wouldn't have left the hospital and come here. She wouldn't have ordered that whiskey. Or the second whiskey. Or the third.

Or the beer she'd moved on to as the place filled up. Whiskey had always been her alone drink. Beer was social. It was light and fluffy and social.

The helmet again.

She takes another swig.

She thinks back over why she's here. It comes down to one thing. Charlotte. Stupid nosy Charlotte. With her hospital and her privileges.

"**I have a mother."**

It was a low blow. She had seen Charlotte's own alcoholic of a mother in action. Charlotte had even spoken about her briefly at a meeting. Something about turning into her mother in more ways than one. About blaming herself for not being able to help her. About failing her daddy.

It was a low blow.

She could still feel the hurt in Charlotte's eyes. What else could she have done?

But she wasn't. She wasn't an alcoholic. No. She's fine. She's fine

A drink arrives next to her. The bartender point out a man sitting on the other side of the room. She looks down at the drink.

Whiskey.

She puts down the beer and wraps her shaking hand around the glass. She looks over a the man. She can't decide if he's attractive. She's too focused on the drink.

That makes him attractive, she decides.

He bought her a drink.

Addison would ask what happened to her standards.

Whiskey.

It's in her hand.

She's fine.

The drink gets closer to her lips.

She's fine.

It burns her throat a little.

She's fine.

She's fine.

_I was thinking about adding this on to the end of the other Amelia story I did but I think they stand best separately..._

_Enjoy :)_


End file.
